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When I first went to Paris, I had very few expectations and so there was very little way for me to screw up. But now I had been there. The last time I had gone, my plan was to do the things I wanted to do and to sacrifice the company of others. Certainly I met people who invited me along, the nice canandian couple at la musee du moyen age for example, but I was unwilling to compromise in order to have company. As I said before traveling often reveals who you really are, and here I finally saw that part of the reason for my loneliness is that often I prefer solitude to compromise. But this time I decided if I had to, I would sacrifice sightseeing for companionship.

I woke up late and instead of going to the Musee de Rodin, I decided on the Louvre. Part of the reason was my knee was bothering me, but the other reason was that I was feeling tired and not really up to the task of facing the Paris metro just yet, when I could just leisurely amble to the Louvre. I meandered casually down the Rue De L'Opera, bought my mother perfume at the perfume store where the female clerk recognized me and proclaimed how nice I was to the other clerks. She gave me a discount and threw in samples of Eau Sauvage and Gucci's Envy Me. I continued down and had breakfast, but there was something nagging me.

I tried to go to Nicolas for the cheese plate, but it wasn't open yet. Another disappontment. I finally found a nice cafe for a coffee and criossant. As I ate my breakfast at a cafe I couldn't figure out why I wasn't feeling better. Here I was in Paris, yet the thrill I had felt in the summer was gone. Was it the winter cold? The deadened sun? I was seeking the familiar, but why had I come to Paris to seek out the familiar? If I wanted comfort, why not stay at home? Why come here and be thwarted? Where had my sense of adventure gone?

It is always difficult to tell if one's expectations are too demanding or too lax. I often feel that I am a total slacker, giving myself permission for escaping work I have no excuse for shirking, but then I am often taken to task by others for having too many expectations. I was a disabled girl alone in a city where I barely spoke the language. Was it forgivable to seek the places I had enjoyed in August? Was I being too hard on myself? Was I not being hard enough? Should I push myself to go to the Musee de Rodin, even though my knee hurt?

I decided to go to Louvre, because really can going to the Louvre ever be considered a bad decision?